by Amy Clipston
“Gut,” he said. “How was yours?”
“Long but gut.” She absently rubbed her tummy, and her gaze moved to Norman, who was studying her.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, the warmth of his voice reflecting in his brown eyes.
The tenderness in his face caught her off guard, and for a moment she couldn’t speak. “Gut,” she whispered. “I’ve been a bit tired, but that’s to be expected.”
“Your mamm mentioned you’d been to see the midwife recently.”
“Ya.” She settled back in the swing.
“And it went well?” he asked.
“Ya.” She fingered the condensation on her glass. “I’m having zwillingbopplin, so I have to see a specialist now.”
“Zwillingbopplin.” He smiled and pulled on his beard. “What a blessing. The Lord is gut.”
Sarah glanced down at her belly while her thoughts moved to Peter. How her heart cried for him now. She should be sitting on the porch discussing her pregnancy with him, not Norman.
“You will have your hands full when the bopplin arrive,” he said, breaking through her musings.
“Mamm and I will manage,” she said.
He was silent, and she glanced over to see him gazing at the children again, his mouth forming a thin line instead of the wide smile she’d seen moments ago. She assumed he was remembering the difficult time he’d had adjusting to single parenthood after Leah had died.
She lifted the glass to her dry lips and took a long gulp of the cool water.
While Norman made mundane small talk about the weather and his busy dairy farm, Sarah’s mind turned to Peter and their courtship. She’d met him at a youth gathering when she was nineteen, and she was smitten the moment she laid eyes on his handsome face and gorgeous hazel eyes.
Peter was mysterious, explaining only that he’d been raised by an older Amish couple in Ohio after his parents died in an accident, and he had no siblings. He’d sold his adopted parents’ farm to pay off their debts after they died and then moved to Lancaster when he was eighteen to be closer to his adopted father’s brother, who lived in a neighboring Lancaster County town. After moving to Lancaster County, he had mostly kept to himself.
Sarah knew nothing more about his background, and she’d never met his uncle before Peter died. But it didn’t matter to her. She’d quickly fallen madly in love with Peter.
They’d courted for two years while he gathered enough money to build a small house on her parents’ farm. During that time, Peter went to work in her father’s store, where he impressed her family with his carpentry skills.
Once their small home was built, they’d married. For the first year, Sarah felt as if she were living in a dream. Peter was loving and attentive, and they rarely quarreled. However, their second year of marriage was different. Sarah had wondered if Peter had changed or if she’d finally seen him for who he was—mysterious. She wondered if she’d ever truly known him during their courtship.
“Sarah? Are you all right?”
“Ya.” Sarah shook her head. “Sorry. I was lost in memories.”
He gave an understanding smile. “Would you like to share them with me?”
“No, danki. But I appreciate it. You were saying?” she asked, hoping to bring his focus back to his discussion of his cows. Her memories were too personal to share out loud.
Norman explained the idiosyncrasies of his new cow while Sarah lost herself again in thoughts of her husband and the questions he’d left her.
In the weeks before Peter died, he’d become quiet, standoffish, almost cold to her. She’d tried several times to get him to talk to her and open up, but he was always too busy, rushing off to work or disappearing into the barn. She hadn’t had a chance to uncover what was wrong before he’d died.
Turning her gaze across the field, her eyes fell on the home she and Peter had once shared. Memories crashed down on her like a tidal wave—she could see Peter pulling her by her hand over the threshold the spring after they were married. She remembered the first night they’d sat down to supper in the small kitchen, and she could still smell his musky scent and feel his warm, taut skin as they lay awake in each other’s arms…
“Sarah?”
She jumped, startled. Turning, she found Norman staring at her, his brown eyes full of concern. She flushed and covered her cheeks with her hands.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” He touched her arm.
“Ya.” Sarah cleared her throat and pushed away the painful memories of Peter.
“You looked as if you’d entered another world.”
Nodding, Sarah stared down at her lap. “I supposed I had. I apologize for not hearing everything you said.” Gazing up, her eyes locked with his, and guilt surged through her soul at the genuine worry shining in his eyes. “It was very rude of me to not listen to you.”
A tentative smile curled Norman’s lips. “You forget I lost mei fraa. I understand the pain you feel.”
He leaned in closer, reaching for her and then pulling back. “If you ever need to, Sarah, you can talk to me. I know the pain and the loss you’re facing. It’s not easy. With the Lord’s help, time will heal your wounds.”
Overwhelmed by his kindness, Sarah teared up. “Danki, Norman.”
He stood, gazing toward where the children played. “Ack, I suppose I should get these kinner home. School comes early in the morning.”
“Danki for visiting.” Sarah began to hoist herself up, and Norman motioned for her to remain seated.
“Please sit. I can find my way to my buggy.” He patted her hand. “You take care. I’ll visit with you soon.”
“I look forward to it.” Sarah cradled her belly while watching Norman gather up his children and say good-bye to her brothers and father. Her mind swirled with thoughts of his friendship. Norman was a kind man, and he was a good father to his children. Maybe someday soon she would feel comfortable enough to tell him how she felt about losing her husband. For now, she would enjoy his company and the easy conversation.
3
Luke stared out the window as the taxicab motored down Route 340 in Bird-in-Hand. He had submitted the paperwork for a leave of absence and set out to solve the mystery of what had happened to Peter.
He glanced around at the small stores—most of them Amish themed—and the old, modest homes. His stomach tightened with anticipation when the car slowed in front of a building displaying a sign that read Kauffman & Yoder Amish Furniture. It was the store a young man at the farmer’s market had suggested Luke investigate since it was the only Amish-owned furniture store in the town.
After paying the driver, Luke fetched his bag from the floor and climbed from the car. Standing at the curb, he studied the one-story white building.
He took in a deep breath, inhaling the scent of fresh paint. It was a brand-new building, which caused him to doubt if this was the wrong furniture store. DeLana had made it sound as if Peter had worked in the store for a long time. Perhaps Luke should’ve asked the driver to wait until after he spoke to someone inside instead of going through the hassle of finding another cab if it turned out to be the wrong place.
A handwritten sign taped to the front window read Reopened. Please come in. He wondered if business had been booming so much that they added onto the shop.
Luke climbed the steps and wrenched open the front door, causing a bell to ring in announcement of his presence. Large windows lined the front of the shop, and the walls were covered in crisp, fresh white paint. He glanced around the open area, impressed with the quality of the sample pieces, including mirrored dressers, hope chests, entertainment centers, dining room sets, bed frames, wishing wells, end tables, and coffee tables. The familiar aroma of wood and stain permeated his nostrils. It smelled like home.
A long counter covered with piles of papers and catalogs sat at the far end of the room, blocking a doorway beyond which hammers, saws, and nail guns blasted while voices boomed in Pennsylvania Dietsch. Luke crossed the room, hi
s boots scraping the floor.
A tall man stepped through the doorway. With blond hair and a blond beard, he stood an inch taller than Luke, approximately six one. His dark shirt, suspenders, and trousers were covered in dust and stains.
When his gaze met Luke’s, he squinted as if to study Luke’s countenance. Luke could’ve sworn he saw recognition flash for a split second in the man’s eyes.
“Wie geht’s?” the man asked. He extended his hand and gave a cautious smile.
Luke shook his hand. “Gut, and you?”
“Gut, danki.” The man swiped his hands across his shirt, setting off a cloud of dust. “Is there something I can help you with? Were you looking to order something? We’ve just reopened, so we’re a bit backed up right now. However, if you’re patient, we’d be happy to fill your order.”
Pennsylvania Dietsch and nail guns continued to blast in the room behind him.
Luke cleared his throat and straightened his straw hat, mustering up the strength to ask about Peter. “Actually, I’m visiting from Ohio.”
“Welcome to Bird-in-Hand.” The man smiled. “What brings you here?”
“I’m taking some much-overdue vacation time.” Luke yanked his straw hat from his head and fingered the brim.
“That’s wunderbaar.”
“I noticed your store has just reopened,” Luke said. “Did you do some remodeling?”
“Ya.” The man frowned, shaking his head. “We had to do some major reconstruction after the fire.”
“You had a fire?”
“It was a tragic accident. One of our carpenters knocked over a lamp, igniting an oily rag. We lost everything.” The man’s gaze swept around the large room. “We had to completely rebuild.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Luke said. “When did it happen?”
“Nearly six months ago,” the man said. “It’s taken us a long time to get everything back on track with the shop. We’re still sorting through missing orders.”
“I was wondering if you know a man named Peter Troyer.” Luke tightened his grip on the brim of the hat, anticipating the answer. “I heard he works in an Amish furniture store here in Bird-in-Hand.”
“Peter Troyer?” The man’s eyes widened. “Have you come here to see him?”
Luke nodded, his stomach tightening.
“I’m sorry, mei freind, but Peter perished in the fire.”
Luke swallowed a gasp as bile rose in his throat. He fought to keep his emotions in check.
“It was a great tragedy.” The man shook his head. “He was my brother-in-law.”
“Your brother-in-law?” Despite his pain, Luke raised his eyebrows in surprise at the news Peter had been married.
“He was a gut man and husband. He also was one of our best carpenters.”
Luke sucked in a breath, hoping to curb the surge of shock and grief coursing through him. “You own this shop?” he asked.
“It’s a family business,” the man said. “I’m Daniel Kauffman.”
“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Luke Troyer.”
Daniel’s eyes widened with shock. “Troyer? Was Peter your freindschaft?”
“Ya, he was my relative.” Luke’s voice was ragged with emotion.
Daniel’s eyebrows knitted with confusion. “I didn’t know Peter had relatives left in Ohio.”
“He has relatives, mostly cousins,” Luke said.
An older man, also covered in wood shaving dust, appeared in the doorway. He stepped through, followed by a man who resembled Daniel, only younger.
“Daniel, I thought Jake was running the front. Did he run to the supply yard again?” the older man asked.
“Ya, I think so. Dat, this is Luke Troyer.” Daniel made a sweeping gesture toward Luke. “He’s Peter’s cousin visiting from Ohio. I just told him that we lost Peter in the fire.” He turned to the older man. “This is my dat, Eli Kauffman.”
Eli shook Luke’s hand. “Welcome to Bird-in-Hand. Peter was a gut man. He was gut to my Sarah Rose.”
“Danki.” Luke blew out a trembling breath as the words sunk into his soul. Peter’s wife was Sarah Rose—what a lovely name.
“This is my younger brother, Timothy,” Daniel said, pointing to the younger man.
Luke held his hand out to Timothy, and the man hesitated before taking it. Luke thought he read shock and perhaps worry in Timothy’s eyes.
Daniel patted Luke’s shoulder. “Would you like to meet my sister? She can tell you more about Peter’s life here in Bird-in-Hand.”
Unable to speak, Luke nodded, grappling with the news Peter was dead and had left behind a widow.
“Let’s take Luke over to the bakery. I’ll go tell Elmer that we’re leaving,” Eli said, nodding toward the entrance to the shop.
Sarah handed an English woman her fistful of change. After thanking the woman, she leaned back on the counter behind her and groaned in response to her throbbing temples.
“You look tired.” Kathryn rested her hand on Sarah’s shoulder. “You should go sit. I can walk you home if you’d like. You need to take it easy for the babies.”
Sarah shifted her weight on her aching feet. “I’ll be fine. It’s almost time for my lunch break.”
“Excuse me.” An English woman approached the counter. “Do you have any shoofly pie? I just love it. I’m heading back to Jersey this afternoon, and I promised my husband I’d bring him home a few pieces.”
Smiling, Kathryn stepped over to the customer. “I believe we have some over here.” She nodded toward the end of the counter. “How many pieces would you like?”
While her sister and the customer moved to the other end of the long counter, Sarah sighed and leaned forward. Her feet throbbed, and her head pounded. Kathryn’s offer to walk her home was tempting.
But being alone in the house wasn’t relaxing.
When Sarah was alone, memories of Peter overtook her, filling her heart with sorrow and regret. Remaining at the bakery and helping English tourists kept Sarah busy and silenced her numbing thoughts.
The whoosh of the door pulled Sarah from her mental tirade. Daniel stepped through the doorway, followed by Timothy, Dat, and another man. Timothy’s face was creased with a frown, causing her to wonder why her brother was out of sorts. The men stopped to speak with Mamm, who was standing across the room with a frequent English customer.
The mysterious stranger pushed his straw hat back a fraction of an inch on his brown hair. His eyes scanned the bakery, and Sarah fixated on his clean-shaven face.
Her breath caught in her throat as she took in his familiar countenance. His cheekbones, the shape of his eyes and nose, and his complexion all mirrored Peter’s. It was as though she were looking at her husband’s face before they were married and he grew his beard.
Sarah gripped the counter and sucked in a breath while studying the stranger’s tall, lanky build, wide chest, and broad shoulders. Even his physique and light-brown hair resembled her late husband’s. He looked to be six feet tall, like Peter.
Dat said something to the man, and he turned and greeted Mamm with a smile.
Her heart hammered in her chest, and she cupped a hand to her burning face. Was she dreaming or had God raised Peter in response to her prayer?
“Sometimes I wish our English customers would open their eyes,” Kathryn muttered in Pennsylvania Dietsch, coming up to Sarah. “The pie was right in front of her face, but I had to lead her to it. Then I had to hear the story of her life, and how she—”
“Kathryn,” Sarah’s voice came in a strangled whisper. She gripped her sister’s apron and yanked her over, causing her to stumble. “Do you see that man over there talking to Mamm?”
“Sarah Rose?” Kathryn’s blue eyes were wide with worry. “Are you okay? You’re so pale. Sit.” She took Sarah’s clammy hands and pulled her toward a stool. “I’ll call Mamm over here, and we’ll take you home so you can rest.”
“No!” Sarah wrenched her hands back and gestured toward the stranger, who w
as chatting with the others across the bakery. “Look at him, Kathryn. Please!”
Kathryn’s eyebrows careened toward her blonde hairline as her gaze followed Sarah’s pointed finger.
“Tell me I’m seeing Peter. Tell me God raised him like He raised Lazarus.” Sarah wiped the tears that were suddenly escaping down her hot cheeks and wished her heart would stop pounding against her rib cage.
“He does favor Peter a little.” Frowning, Kathryn took Sarah’s hand in hers. “Sweet Sarah Rose, Peter has gone to be with the Lord and won’t come back. I’m sorry.”
Sarah swallowed a sob. In her mind, she knew her sister was right, but that man looked like Peter. Taking a deep breath, she willed her tears to stop flowing. “I think I need to get some air,” she said. “Will you take care of the customers for me?”
“Of course.” Kathryn’s lips formed a sad smile. “Tell Beth Anne to come out front, and I’ll walk you home.”
“I’ll be fine,” Sarah whispered before racing through the kitchen, past her sister, and out the back door.
She wiped her eyes as she approached the small fenced-in play area where Lindsay sat with her nieces and nephews. Leaning on the fence, Sarah wished she could stop the pain strangling her heart. She prayed her soul would heal and stop playing cruel tricks on her, such as spotting Peter in the bakery. Hadn’t she suffered enough without having hallucinations?
“Aenti Sarah?” Lindsay asked, stepping over to the fence. “Are you okay?”
Sarah nodded. “It’s been a long morning. I needed to step out to get some air.”
Lindsay reached for her. “Do you need help?”
Sarah shook her head. “No. Danki.”
The children ran around playing tag and swinging on the elaborate wooden swing set that her brothers and father had built. Sarah contemplated the two babies growing inside her, wondering what they would look like and how much they would remind her of Peter. Would the sight of her newborns cause her more heartache or would they give her the comfort she craved?
“Sarah Rose?” a voice behind her called.
